


A Reluctant Hufflepuff

by horrorshowjane



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canon Rewrite, Canonical Character Death, Gen, Gen Work, Good Draco Malfoy, Hufflepuff, Hufflepuff Draco Malfoy, Just Friends, Mostly Gen, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:48:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21906991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/horrorshowjane/pseuds/horrorshowjane
Summary: "If you're thinking that I'm not going to put you in Slytherin, then you're quite right," sniffed the Hat, sounding somewhat vindictively gleeful. "The house which actually suits you best is—HUFFLEPUFF!"This story follows Draco after his unexpected sorting into Hufflepuff. This story arc will follow years 1-4 and a planned sequel will cover years 5-7. This is a gen work, for the most part, besides mostly canon relationships that will come later. It's only slash if you squint, but read it however you like!A rewrite and repost of A Reluctant Hufflepuff from fanfiction.net. I am the original author! Should update at least 1-2 days per week until I'm caught up with what's on the other site, and then every 1-2 weeks after that.
Relationships: Cedric Diggory & Draco Malfoy
Comments: 10
Kudos: 80





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I am the original author of A Reluctant Hufflepuff on fanfiction.net (not that I can prove it, since I've been locked out of the email I used to sign into that site... oops). This is a minor cleanup/rewrite of that fic, and it will hopefully be finished! I am still working on it, and the original was posted in 2011.
> 
> Note: A Reluctant Hufflepuff on Wattpad was not posted by me. I don't mind that it's posted there, though, and the poster did add in a disclaimer that it is not their work. Good on them! Just wanted to clarify.

Draco Malfoy had known before he ever set foot on the Hogwarts Express that the Sorting Hat would sing before the actual Sorting began, but he hadn’t been told how  _ trite _ the song was going to be. He felt a sneer of contempt creep across his face, and didn’t bother to school his expression—why should he? Glancing around, he saw that his soon-to-be Slytherin housemates looked just as skeptical and disgusted as he did. When the Hat’s song ended, and the rest of the Great Hall’s occupants began to applaud, Draco folded his arms over his chest. He wasn’t going to clap for  _ that _ .

Professor McGonagall stepped forward holding a long roll of parchment. “When I call your name, you will put on the Hat and sit on the stool to be sorted,” she said. “Abbott, Hannah!”

A pink-faced girl with blonde pigtails stumbled out of line, put on the Hat, which fell right down over her eyes, and sat down. A moment’s pause—

“HUFFLEPUFF!” shouted the Hat. Draco’s lip curled.  _ Hufflepuff _ , honestly.

Bones, Susan also went to Hufflepuff, and Boot, Terry, to Ravenclaw, as did Broklehurst, Mandy, and then Draco smiled as Bulstrode, Millicent went to Slytherin. Millie wasn’t exactly his best friend, but their parents liked each other well enough, which was all that mattered, really—but Draco would probably marry Pansy Parkinson, which tended to put a damper on most of his friendships with other girls, who knew that they would need to cultivate other, more important relationships with potential husbands.

While he’d been thinking, McGonagall had called several more names, and the next to be called was the annoying, know-it-all, bushy-haired girl from the train named Hermione. Draco waited for the Hat to call out Ravenclaw, but it didn’t. His eyebrows rose when she was sorted into Gryffindor—but then, he supposed it made sense. After Slytherin, Ravenclaw was the most respectable house, and so it was no wonder that the house hadn’t taken the likes of her; he thought his theory confirmed when Longbottom, Neville, the sniveling, chubby boy who’d lost his toad earlier, was also sorted into Gryffindor.

Finally, MacDougal, Morag was sorted, and it was Draco’s turn.

He strode confidently towards the stool, sat, and then placed the Hat on his head. For a moment, he heard nothing, and waited impatiently for the Hat to call Slytherin.

“Slytherin, hmm?” said a voice. “That’s where all Malfoys want to be.” At that last, the Hat sounded somehow weary.

“Of course,” retorted Draco. “It’s the only honorable house in the school.” The Hat chuckled at him, but it was laughter more of mocking than of amusement.

“The only honorable house?” said the Hat, sounding dryly skeptical. “Perhaps you didn’t pay close enough attention to my explanation of the houses, Draco Malfoy.”

“I already know all about the houses,” he snapped back at the Hat in his mind, “so just put me in Slytherin and have done with it.”

“No,” said the Hat, “not until you tell me what you think you know.” Draco mentally sighed, and physically felt his jaw clench.

“Slytherin takes after the honorable Salazar, and holds the purest of mind and blood; Ravenclaw is almost as good as Slytherin, where the knowledgeable go—but they’ve less ambition, less drive than Slytherins; Gryffindor is for the foolhardy and reckless; and Hufflepuff—Hufflepuff is perhaps worse, even, than Gryffindor, for that’s where all of the cowards go,” said Draco. There was complete silence for a very, very long moment. “Well? Get on with it.”

“I think, Draco Malfoy,” said the Hat slowly, “that you are so very, very wrong. Slytherin would not be best for you.”

“What do you know?” said Draco. “You’re just a stupid old Hat!”

“I was fashioned by Godric Gryffindor himself for this purpose, and you will abide by my decision, boy,” replied the Hat, sounding calm, but warning. “Slytherin would lead you to ruin, and Ravenclaw would probably do the same. Gryffindor would kill you—perhaps literally, but…”

“No,” said Draco, and he felt the blood drain from his face—had he been able to see himself, he would have seen a boy who looked comically pale with wide, wide eyes, looking perfectly horrified under the too-large Hat. “You cannot be thinking what I think that you are.”

“If you’re thinking that I’m not going to put you in Slytherin, then you’re quite right,” sniffed the Hat, sounding somewhat vindictively gleeful. “The house which actually suits you best is—HUFFLEPUFF!”

There was dead silence in the Great Hall. No one moved, and there was certainly no applause.

“Now wait just a moment—” said Draco, and this time, he spoke aloud; the Hat had finished its examination of him, leaving him speaking to the room at large. The sound of his voice spurred McGonagall to action, stepping towards him and clearing her throat politelyl as she held out her hand for the Hat. Draco glanced at her and glared. “I’m not through—the Hat’s made a mistake. I need it to change—”

“Mr. Malfoy,” said Professor McGonagall, “please join your housemates at the Hufflepuff table.” She, like the Hat, seemed to be on the verge of laughter. Still glaring at her, Draco was about to retort when someone at the Hufflepuff table started clapping. He whipped his head around, trying to find the culprit, and saw another boy smiling benignly at him as he applauded, nudging his friends into doing the same. Gradually, it caught on, and the whole table was clapping; the Hufflepuffs looked confused, but not hostile.

And then the Hat was snatched from his head, and so was any hope for making Slytherin.

Draco sat across from the boy who had begun the clapping, and glared at him through the rest of the Sorting Ceremony, stopping only to watch Harry Potter be, quite predictably, stored into Gryffindor. The boy across from Draco, for his part, glanced at him only occasionally and when he did gave him a rather bemused, somewhat indulgent smile. Draco wanted to scream at him, because that was most certainly  _ not _ the proper response to the Malfoy Glare of Certain Death, and Slytherins, at least, would have known that.

The Headmaster stood after Blaise Zabini was sorted into Slytherin—Draco felt a stab of anger; he knew Blaise, and knew that the other boy wasn’t even very ambitious, and if  _ he _ could be put in Slytherin, why not Draco? The Great Hall was silent as they waited for the Headmaster to speak.

“Welcome!” called Dumbledore. “Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!

“Thank you!”

He sat back down, and again as everyone clapped, Draco simply scowled and gave a haughty huff of breath. The boy across from him looked to him, openly amused.

“Are you alright?” he asked Draco, though he was still smiling.

“No, I am most certainly  _ not _ alright,” snapped Draco. “I am not ‘alright’—I am a sodding  _ Hufflepuff _ .” The boy nodded, and now looked sympathetic, although the amusement persisted.

“I’ve heard about the Malfoy family—my father works for the Ministry, so he’s met your father a couple of times—and I can see how you would be upset about not being in Slytherin,” the boy said calmly, “but Hufflepuff’s a good house, too. I’m sure you’ll make lots of friends. Oh! I didn’t even introduce myself.” He reached a hand across the table. “I’m Cedric Diggory.” Still scowling, Draco shook his hand—he didn’t want to, but his mother had drilled etiquette into him long ago, and he could not so grossly neglect it. The boy—Cedric—looked pleased, and smiled as he drew his hand back.

“Would you care for some potatoes, Draco?”

Draco barely listened to the few other first-years around him during the Feast; instead, he had been looking at the staff table, desperately trying to catch Professor Snape’s eye. Not only was Snape the head of Slytherin, Draco knew, but he was also a friend of Lucius Malfoy, and together, they could fix the mistake the Hat made. Instead of Professor Snape, however, a rather chubby, cheerful looking woman caught his eye and grinned widely, giving him a little wave. Draco nodded curtly, again not wanting to neglect his etiquette, but far from giving the impression that he was in any way, shape, or form alright with the current state of things.

“Oh, I see Professor Sprout’s noticed you,” said Cedric after a moment, following Draco’s line of sight to the staff table. “She’s our head of house, you know, and the Herbology professor.”

“ _ Your _ head of house,” said Draco loftily, sounding calm even as he stabbed a piece of his meat with undue force. “I may be forced to spend the night in the Hufflepuff dormitory, but once my father hears about this, we’ll correct this mistake straight away.” He nodded firmly, having no doubt that the error would indeed be fixed. Around him, instead of looking offended as those of any other house might have, the Hufflepuffs looked just as Cedric first had: bewildered, but also very amused.

As the food disappeared at last, Professor Dumbledore stood again. The Hall fell silent, and Draco hoped that the Headmaster would say something a little more coherent in this speech.

“Ahem--just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you.

“First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well.” Dumbledore’s twinkling eyes flashed in the direction of two red-headed boys at the Gryffindor table--the Weasley twins, Draco identified. “I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors.

“Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madame Hooch.” Draco felt his stomach lurch. He had been making plans with his father to circumvent the first-year broom-ban and get him on the Quidditch team--the  _ Slytherin _ Quidditch team.

“And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death.” Several people laughed, and Draco saw out of the corner of his eye that Harry Potter was one of the few who did--of course the bloody Boy-Who-Lived wouldn’t fear death.

“And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!” cried Dumbledore. At the staff table, the teachers were still smiling, but now rather woodenly; Draco glanced at the Hufflepuffs and saw that most of the older students had that same indulgent smile Cedric had worn.

Dumbledore gave his wand a little flick, and a long golden ribbon flew out of it, which rose high above the tables and twisted itself, snakelike, into words. “Everyone pick their favorite tune,” said Dumbledore, “and off we go!”

Draco resolutely did not sing, even as, all around him, students burst into song. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the absolute racket--no one was even singing the same tune, or at the same pace. He thought that maybe he shouldn’t even try to get into Slytherin--maybe he should write his father and ask to be sent to Durmstrang.

Beneath the table, someone nudged his foot, and he opened his eyes. Cedric and a few of the other older students were gesturing to the banner--Draco shook his head frantically. They shrugged and continued bellowing the horrible, horrible song.

“Ah, music,” said Dumbledore when it had finally ended, after conducting the Weasley twins in their funeral march selection for a short time. “A magic beyond all we do here! And now, bedtime. Off you trot!”

The students rose, as did the staff, and at each table, older students were calling out “follow me,” and leading the younger ones out of the Hall towards their house dormitories. Draco, instead of following Cedric, went against the flow of students, trying to fight his way through the sea of people towards the staff table.

“What are you doing?” asked Professor Sprout, and Draco froze. Her voice had been kind, if confused, just like the rest of the Hufflepuffs. He wondered if any of the sodding folk ever stopped being so  _ cheerful _ .

“It’s rather imperative that I speak to Professor Snape,” he said, trying to keep his voice level and polite instead of desperate. Professor Sprout smiled at him.

“Oh, I suppose that your father is friendly with him, isn’t he? It does help to see familiar faces on your first day away from home, I agree, but right now Professor Snape needs to see his own students to their common room and make the necessary introductions,” said the professor firmly. “I’m sure that you’ll have a chance to speak with him after Potions class on Wednesday--Gryffindors and Slytherins have Potions tomorrow, but you’ll know all of that in the morning when you get your timetable. And if that won’t do, then perhaps we can arrange for a meeting in the morning.”

“No!” Draco cried, and then cleared his throat, realizing that he had been rude. “I mean that, it’s just…” Professor Sprout looked concerned, and laid a hand on his shoulder. Normally Draco found such gestures to be exceedingly rude and presumptuous, but just this once, he didn’t mind; he blamed it on the almost total emptiness of the Hall and his current… emotionally unbalanced state.

“What is it, dear boy?”

“I’m not supposed to be a Hufflepuff!” he exclaimed finally. The witch’s eyebrows shot up, and she gave him a sympathetic smile.

“Is there something the matter, Pomona?” Both turned at the sound of the Headmaster’s voice, and Draco stared at the man. He wondered how it was possible for someone to project so much light--the man was  _ twinkling _ , and, rather surprisingly, it had little to do with his garish robes.

“Mr. Malfoy is concerned about his house placement,” explained Professor Sprout, dropping her hand from his shoulder after giving it a brief, reassuring squeeze. Dumbledore “ah”d and turned to Draco, who shifted uncomfortably under the intense gaze of the blue eyes.

“Your father was in Slytherin--your mother, too,” said Dumbledore, “that much is true. However, and I doubt that Narcissa would have told you this, her sister Andromeda had a daughter--your cousin--named Nymphadora. The girl--no longer a girl, of course, but a grown and very capable woman--graduated with excellent NEWT scores, and was accepted to Auror training.”

“What does that have to do with this mistake?” asked Draco. After a slight pause, he shifted again, and added a contrite “sir.” Dumbledore twinkled at him with the same sort of glee people apparently just wouldn’t stop feeling around him.

“Your cousin Nymphadora was sorted into Hufflepuff as well,” said Dumbledore. Draco blinked at the man. He had known that his mother had a sister named Andromeda, and through thinly-veiled contemptuous references, had gathered that she’d married a Mudblood, but he hadn’t known that someone related to him--however weakly--had ever been put anywhere but Slytherin.

“Perhaps,” continued Dumbledore, “that will be food for thought. Now, off to bed with you! You have Herbology first thing in the morning, and it wouldn’t do for either of you to be tired. Goodnight, Pomona; good luck, Draco.” He moved off, and Draco stood rooted to the spot for a moment.

“Come then, dear,” said Sprout happily, “let’s get to the common room.

Draco followed Professor Sprout through a painting which was down one floor from the Great Hall, but nowhere near the actual dungeons, and grimaced the instant he saw the common room. It was blindingly yellow--yellow carpet, yellow tapestries--with black accents. Draco was strongly reminded of a bumblebee.

There were students milling about, and all of the first-years were still in the common room, apparently waiting for Professor Sprout. She gestured for everyone to sit, either in the armchairs or on the couches or floor around her, and waited until they’d all done so--including Draco, although he sat somewhat removed from the rest of the group--before beginning to speak.

“Well, hello Hufflepuffs!” she said excitedly. “I just wanted to give you the basics tonight, because I know you’re all probably very tired.

“Boys’ and girls’ dormitories are separated, and there are two of each: one for first through third year and one fourth through seventh year. I do not mind mingling between the years, as that separation is simply to keep from over-crowding, but please do not try entering the opposite gender’s dormitories!” There were giggles, and Sprout tried and failed to look stern until they tapered off.

“You’ll be receiving your timetables tomorrow at breakfast. Please obey Professor Dumbledore’s instructions regarding the off-limits areas. If you get lost, which I’m sure many of you will, don’t hesitate to ask a prefect or a portrait--they’re quite used to giving directions, and the majority enjoy interacting with students.

“Beyond that, I’ve only two things to say: as your head of house, I hope that you will feel free to come to me with  _ any _ problems you should encounter, be it homesickness or bullying or a lost familiar. I am here not only to keep you in line, but to keep you happy and able to focus on your schoolwork.” Draco rolled his eyes to himself. “Now, my final message for the evening.” The older students sat back as though they knew what was coming, looking more at the first years than at Sprout then.

“Hufflepuff is often marginalized as a house, but we have an advantage that few realize exists. It is true that Hufflepuff ‘took the rest,’ as the Sorting Hat says, but that does not mean that Hufflepuff consists of mediocre witches and wizards--instead, it means that here in this house, we combine the traits of the other three.” Draco’s eyebrows rose, and he found himself leaning forward slightly, interested despite himself.

“Helga Hufflepuff took the hard-working who can relate to Ravenclaw’s studious nature; she took the loyal, who can relate to Gryffindor’s chivalry; and--” Here she pointedly glanced at Draco, but there wa still a smile on her face instead of a stern look. “--dear Helga Hufflepuff took the patient and intelligent, who can relate to the cunning of Slytherins.

“Our house’s founder strove for unity, and I wish you all to remember that, and to do the same. Strive every day to embody the best qualities of all the houses of Hogwarts, and it will make the best witch or wizard out of you that you can possibly be. Strive every day to be a credit to Helga Hufflepuff’s house.”

Draco did not owl his father immediately that night, for he found that he did not know what to say. He blanched when he saw the yellow scarves and ties left next to the bed which was obviously his, but suddenly, he thought that just maybe Hufflepuff wouldn’t be quite as bad as he’d first assumed.

The following morning, Professor Sprout arrived to lead the first-years to the Great Hall, not wanting them to be  _ too  _ lost on their first day. “You can’t go into your first day at Hogwarts on an empty stomach--no missing breakfast!” she chirped at them, and greeted each first-year with a nod, their name, and a smile as they passed her to go through the portrait hole. Draco was last.

“Mr. Malfoy,” said Professor Sprout, frowning at the boy, “why aren’t you wearing your tie?”

“I’m afraid yellow doesn’t suit my complexion, Professor,” Draco answered very seriously, and immediately her frown became a smile.

“You’re a very strapping young man, Mr. Malfoy, and I’m sure you’ll stay that way in Hufflepuff colors.” He blinked at her, and was still too busy being confused to protest when Cedric pushed a glaringly yellow tie into his hand and shoved him through the portrait.

It wasn’t until Transfigurations that day that he actually donned the tie, telling himself that he looked rather stupid wearing an incomplete uniform and that it had nothing whatsoever to do with Professor McGonagall’s glare.

After Transfigurations was a whole free hour before lunch, and Draco immediately headed for the dungeons. He had just managed to find the potions classroom when he heard his name called, and turned only to have a loudly squeaking female launch herself at him.

“Draco!” It was Pansy, and he patted her shoulders awkwardly--they might have been slated to marry, but that didn’t mean that Draco  _ liked _ physical contact with her, exactly. “Draco, it’s just  _ awful _ what happened with the Hat! Did you owl your father? Are you going to see Snape? Is he going to fix it?”

“Pansy, please, have some decorum,” he said, feeling very snobbish indeed, as he usually did with Pansy. He disentangled himself from the hug, and noticed for the first time that Crabbe and Goyle were standing a few feet behind her. “I am going to see Professor Snape, yes.”

“Oh, good,” sighed Pansy. “He has this hour free, too, so you won’t be bothering him.” She grabbed his hand and squeezed it in a way she must have thought was comforting and bestowed a smile on him. “Good luck, Draco.”

“Thank you.” He waited until they had passed, and then knocked on the door.

“Come,” barked an angry voice, and Draco hesitated for a second before obeying. The classroom looked much as he had expected it would, and Snape was sitting at his desk at the front of the classroom, glaring down at a piece of parchment. He looked up as Draco shut the door behind him and nodded to the boy. “I’ve been expecting you. Before you ask, there is no way to change houses once the Sorting Hat has chosen.” Draco nodded, not bothering to tell the professor that he had actually been contemplating the benefits of staying in Hufflepuff. He had not yet decided firmly enough  _ not _ to seek Snape’s help, though, so there he was.

He saw Snape staring at his tie, and then the Potions Master’s lips twisted into a small, rueful grin. “A Malfoy in Hufflepuff. I never thought I would see that.” He shook his head. “Have you heard from your father?”

Just as he had at the Sorting Ceremony, Draco felt the blood drain from his face. His father had been a looming thought in the back of his mind, but he had brushed it aside as best he could, until Snape had to go and mention him. “Does… does he already know?” His voice came out rather smaller than he’d meant it to, and he sounded just as fearful as he felt.

Snape nodded. “He does. I received an owl this morning from him, asking whether or not it would help to take the matter to the Headmaster. I assured him it would not. I fully expect him to do so anyway.” Draco found it rather hard to meet the professor’s eyes at this point. “He will have to face the fact that you are in Hufflepuff at some point, Draco, as will you.” Draco shook his head.

“I… that isn’t it, Professor. Not entirely,” he said in the same timid voice. “I’m… well, Hufflepuff doesn’t seem  _ horrible _ , exactly, but… I know that Father won’t be pleased. At all. In fact, he’ll probably be very angry.” He sounded very afraid, then, and Snape frowned and stood, going around his desk to Draco.

“Draco,” he said, tone very delicate--and it sounded strange, coming from him, and Draco frowned, “Lucius doesn’t… take out his frustrations on you, does he?” Draco looked up at that, his frown deepening in confusion. Suddenly, he understood, and his eyes went wide as he shook his head.

“No!” he protested. “No, there’s nothing like  _ that _ going on. Father would never hurt me. I just… I don’t like to disappoint him.” Snape held his gaze for a long moment, probably gauging his truthfulness, and Draco felt the uncomfortable sensation that his thoughts were being… taken, or something. Snape nodded.

“Lucius will, as I said, have to reconcile himself to his Hufflepuff son,” he said flatly. “If that is all…?” Draco nodded. “Go, then.” Draco thanked him cordially, and just before he left, he could have sworn that he heard Snape muttering about “that garish yellow.” He smirked.

At lunch that day, Draco realized halfway through his meal that not only had he not eaten, but that he was also staring at the Slytherin table, where the friends he’d grown up playing with were talking and laughing without him. He jumped, startled as Cedric sat down next to him.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” said Cedric casually, grinning at the first-year.

“It’s quite alright,” answered Draco, frowning. Hufflepuffs apologized and smiled more than anyone he’d ever met before in his life.

“I managed to get to the library this morning,” Cedric told him, “though there were already a bunch of Ravenclaws there--and that Gryffindor, Granger.” Draco sneered at the mention of the girl, but quickly schooled his expression when Cedric frowned at him. “Anyway, I grabbed something for you.” He pulled a library book out of his school bag, setting it next to Draco. He peered at it, then at Cedric, suspicious.

“What is it?”

“It’s about Helga Hufflepuff,” answered Cedric. “It talks about her contributions to the school, and her relationships with the other Founders, and the first students to graduate from Hogwarts as Hufflepuffs. I thought it might help.”

“Help what?” Draco asked, frowning.

“Well, don’t take this the wrong way,” Cedric said quickly, “but you didn’t exactly seem eager to be a Hufflepuff. I just wanted to expand on what Professor Sprout said about Hufflepuff’s good qualities.” Draco nodded eventually.

“Thank you,” he said awkwardly, not very used to showing gratitude, though there was something about Hufflepuffs that brought out the strangest emotions in him. He frowned at Cedric suddenly. “Aren’t you a fourth-year?” Cedric nodded. “Then what the hell are you doing bothering with a first-year?”

“You shouldn’t swear,” Cedric scolded, although it seemed like an automatic reaction than any offense. “You’re interesting. Different.”

“I’m different.”

“Yeah. You’re… I’m not sure how to explain it, but I think it’s that you didn’t grow up like most of us did--any of us, really--and you have an entirely different way of thinking. It’s interesting.” Draco finally nodded, accepting the explanation. He didn’t mind being called different, really; it was the fate of a Malfoy to be exceptional, of course.

Draco hadn’t planned to cut short the conversation with Cedric, but the family owl came then, dropping a letter in front of him and giving a stern, even angry, hoot before flying off without waiting for a reply. Draco read it and sighed.

_ Draco, _

_ I will be meeting with the Headmaster and Professors Sprout and Snape this afternoon. Do not concern yourself with this problem; I will remedy it. _

_ Lucius A. Malfoy _

It was not sighed “Father,” Draco noted, and his stomach began to twist.

* * *

In the end, the “meeting” between his father, the Headmaster, and Professors Sprout and Snape was a debacle. Professor McGonagall turned up, having come running as soon as she heard that Lucius Malfoy was in her school; as Professor Sprout shouted at his father with righteous indignation, Professor McGonagall glared at him threateningly, and occasionally called out in support of her fellow head of house. Lucius responded to all of this with poorly veiled threats, and turned, every now and again, to Snape, imploring him to  _ do something _ and  _ make them see sense _ , or to Dumbledore, threatening to use his influence and seat on the Board of Governors to have him removed. Dumbledore, for his part, merely sat calmly behind his desk and twinkled ever more brightly at Draco, who sank down farther and farther in his seat.

“--absolutely ridiculous!” Professor Sprout was yelling when Draco began paying attention again. “This happens to at least one student every single year! Parents need to learn to accept their children, not try to make them replicas of themselves!”

“How dare you presume to challenge my rights as Draco’s father!” Lucius hissed back, and Draco sighed and looked away, beginning to gnaw on the inside of his cheek. Dumbledore gave him a measuring look, and then stood. All of the adults immediately fell silent.

“There have been cases in the past where a student has been allowed to try the Hat on once more, but not in a single instance has the Hat changed its decision,” said Dumbledore loftily. Lucius made to speak, no doubt to demand that Draco be allowed to try on the Hat again, but Dumbledore held up a hand, staying him. “Perhaps we should ask Draco what he wants.”

Then four pairs of adult eyes were fixed on Draco, who shifted uncomfortably. “Would you care to try the Hat on again?” The headmaster’s voice was gentle, and his tone neutral; unlike Lucius, he wouldn’t be disappointed if Draco said no. He glanced at Snape, who merely looked interested, and McGonagall, who was still glaring nastily at his father. He looked at Professor Sprout, who was giving him an encouraging smile, a far cry from the anger she’d displayed only moments before. Finally, Draco glanced at Lucius, who was staring at him expectantly. He obviously thought Draco’s answer would be yes.

Draco thought of Cedric, and he thought of Professor Sprout’s speech the night before about the virtues of Hufflepuff, and making Helga proud, and he paused. What would a good Hufflepuff do?

“Er, well,” he said, sounding very tentative and very small and young, which he was, but generally covered up with enormous amounts of bravado and cheek, “I think that… well, Hufflepuff is a good house, isn’t it? I mean, the Hat probably won’t change its mind anyhow, and I… there are nice people in Hufflepuff.” Draco looked at Dumbledore, who was suddenly beaming at him with even more fervor than he had before, pleased by his decision. He glanced at the professors; McGonagall looked shocked, Snape looked amused and vaguely approving, and Professor Sprout looked downright joyful and triumphant. He looked at his father.

To say that Lucius was shocked would have been an understatement. The imposing blond man was standing there practically gaping at his son--the Malfoy equivalent was a release of tension in the jaw and widened eyes--as he tried, and failed, to understand his son’s choice. He opened and closed his mouth several times without saying anything, looking for all the world like a fish out of water.

“Draco...?” Lucius trailed off. Dumbledore nodded resolutely.

“Wonderful!” cried Dumbledore, and Draco had a feeling that the Headmaster genuinely felt that this was wonderful, although he wasn’t sure why. “Draco will make a fine Hufflepuff, I’m sure. You have no reason to fret, Lucius--” Draco saw his father start and almost recover from his shock at Dumbledore’s familiar treatment of him. “--for Pomona is an excellent head of house. She’s very protective of her bunch.”

Then he was guiding Lucius past the three gathered professors to the door. “Now, I realize that this must be a surprise, but perhaps you should write to your sister-in-law, Andromeda? Her daughter was sorted into Hufflepuff, too, you realize. Have a very nice day, Lucius.” And then he was shutting the door, Lucius Malfoy standing flabbergasted on the other side of it. Dumbledore turned to the rest of the room’s current occupants. “Well then! For remaining firm under pressure and displaying admirable loyalty to your house, Draco, ten points to Hufflepuff.” Sprout gave a pleased hum and nodded; Snape still looked amused, one eyebrow quirked up; McGonagall looked as though she might fall over if someone so much as poked her with a feather.

“I have a class to teach,” said Snape unceremoniously, heading for the door. “Good day.”

McGonagall hesitated. “I apologize, Mr. Malfoy,” she said to him, the words sounding as though it pained her very tongue to say them, “for I had assumed that you would be just like your father, and readily give into his demands. Well done.” And then she, too, was gone.

“A reluctant Hufflepuff no more,” said Sprout happily. “I’m sure you’ll go far in this house, Draco. As Minerva said, that was a very fine job you just did.” She squeezed his shoulder, and even as Draco idly wondered what was with these Hufflepuff people and their happiness and their  _ touching _ , he tried to ignore how proud he was currently feeling.

An hour later, waiting for the start of Charms, he couldn’t ignore the feeling any longer as he explained to his housemates that he’d gotten them ten points on his first day. The resulting smirk was softer, and could very well be classified as a smile. In his happiness, he was one of the first to float his feather, and the near-smile became a genuine grin as he earned another three points for it.

Draco could definitely get used to this Hufflepuff business. 


	2. Chapter 2

Potions was awkward, to say the least. Hufflepuff had that class with the Ravenclaws, and had been spared having to see the confrontation between Professor Snape and Harry Potter. As the group of first years sat waiting for their professor, they gossiped.

“ _ I _ heard that Potter didn’t know any of the answers to Professor Snape’s questions,” sniffed one of the Ravenclaws, and Draco smirked to himself. Of course that would be the cardinal sin to a Ravenclaw.

“What if Professor Snape was asking really hard questions on purpose?” said one of Draco’s fellow Hufflepuffs, a boy named Ernie Macmillan. All of the Hufflepuffs were very fair-minded, as the Hat and Professor Sprout had promised, and they were always looking for the best in people. Draco had been approached by many of his year-mates already, as they introduced themselves and told him how much they looked forward to getting to know him. Draco had managed not to snort outright at them, and simply nodded.

The chatter about Harry Potter continued, moving from the incident in his first Potions class to general rumors they’d heard (“ _ I _ heard he’s been training in Mongolia for the last eleven years, and that’s why he doesn’t know anything about the magical world!” and “ _ I  _ heard that he was too powerful to be around other magical people until he was old enough to come to Hogwarts, and  _ that’s _ why he’s been gone!”). Draco rolled his eyes, and saw one of his housemates looking equally skeptical. The boy rolled his own eyes in response to Draco, and he smirked at the other boy; Draco remembered that his name was Justin Finch-Fletchley.

“Silence.” Snape had swept into the room without them noticing, and most of the class jumped. Snape sneered at them. The single word had been spoken in a normal tone of voice, and sounded almost like a request instead of a command. The students knew better.

Snape headed for the front of the classroom, his robes billowing out behind him. “You will be brewing a very simple potion today, the Boil-Cure potion. Hopefully you will fare better than certain Gryffindor students.” So he had heard their gossip, then--Draco was surprised that he hadn’t taken points or something. Snape flicked his wand. “An ingredient list and instructions are on the board. Ingredients are in the cabinets. Choose your partners and get to work.” He sat down at his desk, and then Justin was turning to Draco.

“Partners?” he asked agreeably, and Draco nodded. “Great! If you set up the cauldron, I’ll get the ingredients.” He nodded. Draco set up their cauldron and lit the flame beneath as promised, and then looked past Snape to the instructions on the board. The potion looked fairly simple, so long as you could follow the instructions.

He and Justin worked well together, and even managed to make small talk as they worked.

“Are you an only child?” asked Justin curiously, and Draco nodded as he added some dried nettles. “I thought you might be. Those of us who are just tend to show it, you know?” Draco did know, especially since the few Slytherins--he still felt a slight pang of something unpleasant he couldn’t identify when he thought about the house, but ignored it--he knew who had siblings tended to be very loud and guarded what attention they got zealously. But there were few who were not only children, like Draco.

“My father wanted me to go to Durmstrang, but my mother was opposed to her only son going so far from home,” said Draco, and saw Justin frown.

“Durmstrang?” asked Justin, and now Draco frowned, too. How could he not know about Durmstrang?

“Another magical school in Norway,” explained Draco. Justin nodded.

“My mother was all set to send me off to Eton, before I got the letter to come here,” said Justin. “I had to fight her tooth and nail to get her to agree to send me here.” It was Draco’s turn to be confused, but Justin caught on quickly. “Eton’s a really good school near Berkshire. They have lots of famous alumni--eighteen Prime Ministers have gone there, you know.”

“Prime Ministers,” repeated Draco dully, now staring at Justin rather than their potion. “I… your parents are Muggles?” Justin grinned at him and nodded.

“Took a while for us to figure out what that word meant, but yeah,” Justin answered. Draco continued to stare. This… person he’d been talking to had Muggle parents, and yet here he was at Hogwarts. Just like Hermione Granger. “Are you alright?”

“Our potion is ready,” Draco announced as it turned pink. They took it off of the flame, and bottled it in flasks quickly. After they were dismissed, Draco took his bag and fled.

* * *

Draco sat alone near the end of the Hufflepuff table at lunch, stabbing at his food angrily, though little of it made it to his mouth. He frowned down at his plate.

Justin Finch-Fletchley had seemed perfectly… nice. He hadn’t stooped low enough to gossip and chatter as their classmates had, and he had been proficient enough at potion-making. And then Draco found out that he was a Mudblood.

He sighed. His mother had written to him, telling him that she loved him, but saying little else. Draco had understood the hidden message: they were disappointed, and confused. Narcissa had mentioned that Draco shouldn’t expect his father to “come around” for quite some time--in other words, he was disappointed, as Draco had known he would be. What would he do if he found out that his Hufflepuff son was fraternizing with Mudbloods? How disappointed would Lucius be then?

Draco looked up just in time to see Justin enter the Hall with Ernie and watched as Justin said something to the other boy, and then headed towards Draco.

Just as he had during Potions, Draco grabbed his bag and left quickly.

He was halfway down the hallway back towards the Hufflepuff common room when he heard footsteps behind him, and glanced over his shoulder. It was Cedric.

“Draco!” the other boy called, and Draco stopped, letting the fourth-year catch up to him. “Is everything okay?” It was practically the same question he’d asked after Draco was sorted, and Draco gave practically the same answer.

“No, it’s not ‘okay,’” he snapped. “Nothing is going right here!”

“What happened?” asked Cedric, frowning. “I thought you were okay with being in Hufflepuff--you told the Headmaster that you didn’t want to try on the Hat again, after all.”

“Maybe that was a mistake,” said Draco, “because my father is already disappointed enough without hearing that I’ve been talking to Mudbloods--”

“Mr. Malfoy!” Draco turned at the high-pitched exclamation and saw Professor Flitwick standing behind him. His hands were on his hips as he glared sternly up at Draco. “Come with me!” Draco glanced back at Cedric with a sinking feeling. Cedric gave him a small half-smile and headed back towards the Hall, glancing back once more to see Draco and the Charms Professor walking away.

Professor Flitwick led him not to his office next to the Charms classroom, but to a larger room not far from the Hufflepuff common room; there were small, overstuffed sofas, low tables surrounded by comfortable cushions, and several armchairs arranged around the fire crackling away in the fireplace. There were several professors seated around the room, some with tea, talking quietly, and some marking essays. Draco saw Professor Sprout and Professor McGonagall, but he didn’t recognize the others; they were professors for things like Arithmancy and Ancient Runes, classes he wouldn’t get to take until he was in his third year.

“Pomona,” squeaked Flitwick, and the professor looked up. She frowned as she saw Draco standing awkwardly behind the small man. “I believe you and Mr. Malfoy might need to have a conversation.” Draco’s stomach lurched as Professor Sprout’s eyebrows went up, and she set her tea down. He recalled the pleased expression she’d worn when he’d declined to try the Hat on again and felt a little bit worse as he saw her lips purse. She walked over to Professor Flitwick and leaned down, and he whispered to her what had happened. She sighed and nodded, patting Professor Flitwick on the shoulder.

“I’ll take care of this,” she said. “Thank you, Filius. Come then, Mr. Malfoy.” Draco saw the teachers in the staff room glance at each other, and then at him, and he looked away.

His head of house took him to her office; most professors kept their offices near their classrooms, but because her “classroom” consisted of the greenhouses and the grounds themselves, she kept her office near the Hufflepuff common room. It was cosy, with a desk situated in the corner of the room instead of taking up most of the space, and there was a soft yellow sofa near two armchairs, also yellow with thin black pinstripes. A few bookcases and plants completed the space, and as he looked around, Professor Sprout sat in one of the armchairs, and gestured for him to do the same.

After waiting for him to be seated, and then another second more--likely just to make Draco squirm, and he did--Professor Sprout said, “Professor Flitwick tells me that you’ve had a bit of a problem with Mr. Finch-Fletchley, Mr. Malfoy. He only heard a portion of what you said to Mr. Diggory, but from the sounds of it, you have a problem with him because he’s Muggleborn.” Draco shifted again, uncomfortable under her kind, yet strongly disapproving gaze. “The language you used is not acceptable here, Mr. Malfoy. Where did you hear it?”

Draco swallowed nervously, and looked away from her. “Around.”

“Around,” repeated Professor Sprout, and then she sighed. She leaned forward, drawing his gaze back to her. “Mr. Malfoy, the other bit of the conversation Professor Flitwick overheard was something about your father being disappointed. Perhaps you heard it from him?” Draco felt himself flush. “I suspected as much. What, exactly, happened with Justin?”

“Nothing, really,” Draco said, glad to be able to give a rather innocuous, truthful answer. “I… we were partners, in Potions, and we were… well. He told me about… his parents.”

“And you panicked a bit, having grown up the way that you did,” finished Professor Sprout. Draco felt his face heat even further. It sounded rather… juvenile when she said it like that, and Justin really had been nice, but… “You came here fully expecting to become a Slytherin, and looking at the students who were sorted there, the students you must have been friendly with growing up--it’s hardly surprising you have these attitudes.”

Draco blinked in surprise. She wasn’t yelling at him, or lecturing him, and so far, she hadn’t really done anything other than try to understand what had happened. He wondered if this was yet another Hufflepuff trait, and thought it probably had something to do with that fair-mindedness of theirs.

_ Ours _ , he mentally corrected himself.  **_Our_ ** _ fair-mindedness. I am a  _ **_Hufflepuff_ ** .

“I am in no way excusing what you said, Mr. Malfoy,” she said sternly, though her voice somehow managed to remain kind, “but I do recognize that it is only the symptom of a deeper problem. I am deducting fifteen points for your use of such an offensive word, and you are going to assist Professor Burbage with anything she needs help with each Sunday after lunch for the rest of the month.”

Draco felt his heart sink. The points he’d gotten for Hufflepuff were gone, leaving him with a net of -2, and he’d just received four days of detention, and all on his third day at Hogwarts. Professor Sprout patted his hand. “Please try to look at this as an education rather than a horrible punishment.

“Now, I believe you have Defence Against the Dark Arts soon. You’d best be getting to class.”

* * *

By the time dinner was over and Draco returned to the Hufflepuff common room, news of what he’d said to Cedric had spread to the rest of his house. He entered the common room to be greeted by the sudden hushing of his housemates’ conversations. There were several glares directed at him. Justin himself sat in a corner, working on his homework with Ernie, and Draco felt his stomach lurch again.

He bit the inside of his cheek, clutched his schoolbag a little more tightly, and headed up to his dormitory. As he passed the other Hufflepuffs, he heard someone whisper, “He’s just like his father…”

Draco swallowed hard, wondering why that upset him when it had always been his goal.

Taking refuge in his bed, he drew the hangings around his bed and pulled out his assignments, planning to work on his Transfigurations essay before going to bed. He found that he couldn’t concentrate, and so, frustrated, he threw the parchment and quill down on his bedside table and lay there, staring up at the ceiling. He found that he couldn’t sleep, either. Sighing heavily, he opened his schoolbag to look for something to distract himself from how stupidly upset he was. There, on top, was the book Cedric had given him about Helga Hufflepuff.

Draco woke up late the next morning. He was still fully dressed in his uniform, although his yellow tie had long since been loosened, and the book about Helga Hufflepuff was lying open on his chest. He’d fallen asleep very late the night before, the book being the only thing to hold his attention.

He glanced at the clock, which said, “tut, tut--you’re very late!” Draco glared at the clock as though it were the object’s fault he’d forgotten to set an alarm the previous night. He didn’t have time for breakfast, but if he hurried, he wouldn’t be late for Herbology.

The fact that none of his housemates had gone out of their way to wake him was not lost on Draco.

He ran down the stairs to the Great Hall where he exited the castle and sprinted towards the greenhouses. When he got there, the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff first-years were still just mingling, although Draco entered just before Professor Sprout.

“Right then, please take your seats!” She waited for her students to sit, and Draco glanced around before quickly taking a seat at an empty table. The Hufflepuff he’d sat next to during the first Herbology class, Hannah Abbott--he recalled ridiculing her in his mind for being sorted into Hufflepuff the first night, of all the ironies--was now glaring at him forbiddingly, sitting next to some Gryffindor boy.

“C-can I sit here?” asked a nervous-looking boy. Draco glanced at the tie, and saw that it was red--a Gryffindor, then. He nodded, straightening his tie and trying to smooth his hair back into some semblance of order--without its usual gel, the natural curls of his hair were beginning to spring back up. Draco stared at the boy as he righted himself, identifying him after a moment as Neville Longbottom. He’d lost his toad on the train, Draco remembered. Well, at least  _ he _ was from a magical family. Draco wasn’t sure he could take another moral dilemma just then.

“Today you’re going to be learning to identify different types of plants using only leaf attributes,” said Sprout. “You’ll be working with your partner, taking turns practicing and explaining the characteristics, what they mean, and how to look for them.” She waved her wand, and two boxes appeared on each table. “Each box holds leaves and the attributes of the plants from which they came. You all have different sets of plants, so remember to work together! Good luck, and I’ll be checking on your progress soon.”

As Draco opened his box, the other boy started talking. “I’m Neville Longbottom. You’re Draco Malfoy, right?” Draco nodded, and wondered idly where he’d heard the name Longbottom before. He knew his parents had mentioned them before, and it hadn’t been in the same tones as they spoke about the Weasleys, but he couldn’t quite remember… Neville resumed speaking as Draco idly turned one mottled green leaf in his hands. “The Sorting Hat was torn between Gryffindor and Hufflepuff for me. Hufflepuff didn’t sound like a bad place--I think I’d have liked it, really--but I wanted to be in Gryffindor like my mum and dad. That’s a shrivelfig leaf.” Draco blinked at the boy, surprised partly by the non-sequitur and partly because he’d identified the leaf so easily.

“How did you know that?” Neville smiled shyly.

“Well, with shrivelfig leaves, it all has to do with the shape of the leaf, the texture, and the color.”

By the time Herbology was over and they left the greenhouse, Draco had resolved to partner with Neville in that subject whenever he possibly could.

* * *

All through Potions, Transfigurations, and the rest of their classes that week, Draco rarely interacted with members of his own house. He’d been reduced to talking to two people only, really, those being Neville and Cedric. He and Neville had agreed, after Draco sheepishly admitted how lost he’d been after even the first Herbology class, that Neville would help Draco with his homework in exchange for Draco’s help in Potions, Neville’s worst subject. Draco had frowned when Neville described how cruel Snape was to many of the Gryffindors--especially Potter--but shrugged it off, telling himself that the other boy was just very biased. As for Cedric, they rarely had much time together, as Cedric began training for Quidditch early, but Cedric took time every day to at least say hello. Draco always responded with either a curt nod or a sneer, but Cedric seemed to sense that the rather isolated boy really did appreciate it.

When not in class or doing homework, Draco spent his time reading about Helga Hufflepuff. He’d learned more about her from that book than he had in the eleven years he’d been alive--this house and its namesake hadn’t really been high on his parents’ list of important lessons to teach their son. He’d known the basic facts of her life, of course, like where and when she’d been born, and that she’d been good friends with Rowena Ravenclaw. But he  _ hadn’t _ known that it was because of her that the house elves had been given work in the kitchens, or that she was very gifted when it came to Charms, or, far more interestingly, that Helga had managed to hold the Founders together for a time after an ill-fated relationship between Godric Gryffindor and a relation of Ravenclaw’s went very badly wrong (and that, apparently, had been one of the final nails in the coffin, breaking up the unity of the Founders--of course it was Gryffindor who’d messed it all up). And he hadn’t known that Helga Hufflepuff was interested in healing magic, and twice saved Salazar Slytherin’s life.

And then he read that she and Slytherin, who’d always had some tension due to their completely opposite viewpoints on students suitable for Hogwarts, had had a row in the middle of the Great Hall which ended in hexes, with Godric Gryffindor stepping in to duel for her. Draco had snickered at that, but abruptly stopped as he read on and found that Helga had then reprimanded Gryffindor, extracting an apology from him for his presumptuous behavior. And then, after an entire year of not speaking to Slytherin, she had gone to him and apologized.

Two weeks later, Slytherin left the school. Gryffindor had stood that night in the Great Hall and delivered a eulogy for the man, even though he was not yet dead--he was dead to them, at any rate. The Slytherin students who remained behind were left without a teacher, and Hufflepuff took them on just as she had taken every other student with no one to instruct them.

Suddenly, Draco understood--Hufflepuff, she took the rest, and taught them all she knew.

* * *

Before Draco knew it, Saturday was over, and it was Sunday--time for his detention. He trudged up the stairs to the Muggle Studies classroom, and knocked on the door, feeling as though he was about to be executed. It swung open and he was greeted by a cheerful-looking woman who reminded him a bit of Professor Sprout.

“Hello, Mr. Malfoy,” she said. “Today I thought you could help me mark some seventh-years’ quizzes.” She gestured to one of the desks, and Draco looked around the classroom for a moment. The desks and arrangement looked like any other classroom, but all around the walls there were pictures that didn’t move, and a few bookcases that held books completely unfamiliar to Draco--he suspected that they were Muggle books, since the Malfoy library held most magical texts.  _ World War I _ and  _ World War II _ drew his gaze in particular--Muggles were quite… imaginative, weren’t they?

“Here you are,” said Professor Burbage, handing him a stack of paper, and then another sheet. “It’s multiple choice, and I’ve given you the key, so you can just go through and mark what they’ve got wrong. Oh!” She set down a quill and a bottle of red ink next to him, and left him to it.

Draco got to his task, and at first, he went through the quizzes only looking at the letters. Eventually, boredom set in, and he began to read through the questions and answers.

_ Alexander Graham Bell was responsible for which Muggle invention?  _ Draco frowned at the answers.  _ A. The television. B. The automobile. C. The Internet. D. The telephone _ . He had no idea what any of them besides automobile meant.

As he continued marking the quizzes, he told himself that he wasn’t the least bit curious, either.

* * *

When Draco got back to the Hufflepuff common room after his detention, he felt a flash of anger as he was greeted by the now customary stares and sudden silence. He glanced over at Justin again, and he remembered what he’d read about Slytherin and Hufflepuff’s row, and how it took her a year to apologize. He frowned as he thought that he was probably the Slytherin in this situation.

And then the answer came to him--they were reacting so strongly to him not because he’d made a mistake and said something they found stupid and insensitive, but because they’d been a little wary of him already. Just as he viewed himself as being Slytherin, they viewed him also as something foreign, something they didn’t  _ really _ understand, someone who wasn’t like them.

Maybe they were right.

Draco turned around and left the common room, heading for the library. He was getting tired of staring at the curtains around his bed anyway.

He was hiding in the Ancient Wizarding History section, reading more about Helga Hufflepuff and her Slytherin-Hufflepuffs when the second part of the equation came to him. Draco was the Slytherin of his situation, but he’d been sorted into Hufflepuff. Maybe he could be like her, too, like those Slytherin-Hufflepuffs described in the book. He frowned as he realized just what that meant: he would have to apologize.

Draco recalled the stony glares he got from his housemates each time he so much as entered the common room and grimaced. He didn’t have much experience with apologies, and… well, perhaps he should find a less…  _ intimidating _ target first.

At that moment, the bushy-haired form of Hermione Granger passed by, and he smiled for the first time in the last few days.

Draco waited until dinner that Sunday night, and knew he may not get another chance. He was sitting, as usual, alone at the end of the Hufflepuff table. He tried to keep his nerves down, but found that he couldn’t keep himself from staring at the Gryffindor table, or stop his leg from bouncing, or keep his heart from hammering away in his chest. Near the end of the meal, he could take it no longer, and stood up.

He strode over to the Gryffindor table and many around him fell silent. There wasn’t a  _ rule _ , exactly, about having to sit down your house except for during the Welcoming and Leaving Feasts, but it wasn’t often that the houses mingled like that during mealtimes. It didn’t  _ ever _ happen, really. Draco stood behind Potter and Weasley, who didn’t seem to notice him. He cleared his throat and, seeing Neville staring at him quizzically, gave him a nod and a small smile.

“What do you want, Malfoy?” asked Weasley belligerently. He looked angry, where Potter only looked curious. “Why’d you come over here? Isn’t it enough that you’re trying to corrupt those Hufflepuffs with your Slytherin self?” Draco bristled, and Potter quietly hissed, “ _ Ron _ !”

“I am not a Slytherin, Weasley,” he drawled, levelling a glare at the redhead, “I am a Hufflepuff.” Weasley scoffed.

“Yeah, right,” he said, and rolled his eyes. “As if I’d believe anything you told me now! Slimy git.” Potter was not-quite-glaring at Weasley, and then he glanced at Draco, who was still glaring himself at the Weasley.

“You’re a complete idiot, Weasley,” Draco said, “and for your information, I came over here to apologize.”

“What?” The word was chorused by Potter, Weasley, Neville, and more than a few of the students nearby who’d been watching the exchange closely. An instant later, Draco realized that even the professors at the staff table were watching him, and he felt himself flush.

“Before you so rudely accused me of being a ‘slimy git,’ Weasley, I was going to tell you that I regretted being a bit of a prat to you both, but now,” Draco paused, taking in the bewildered expressions of the Gryffindors, and Potter’s somewhat calculating one, “I don’t think I will. Good day.” He started walking towards the Hall’s exit.

“Malfoy!” He turned when Potter called his name, and saw that the black-haired boy was halfway out of his seat. “Um. Apology accepted.” Draco nodded curtly and continued on.

Draco thought, in the Slytherin way in which he’d been raised, that making an ally of Harry Potter could be  _ quite _ advantageous, and he’d just gotten a step closer to that. He smirked to himself.

The smirk softened to an almost-smile as he felt a distinctly pleasant feeling blossoming in his chest at the knowledge that he’d just gotten his first real taste of forgiveness. Maybe apologies and forgiveness could be just as good, in the end, as Hufflepuff.

* * *

Draco got back to the Hufflepuff common room before anyone else had quite finished with dinner, which was part of his current plan. He stopped in his dormitory to retrieve the book about Hufflepuff and situated himself in one of the large armchairs in front of the fireplace. Opening the book, he began to read even though he knew it wouldn’t be long before he was interrupted. He was right.

“What are you playing at?” He didn’t look up, recognizing Cedric’s voice. The older boy sat down next to him. As always, Cedric didn’t sound angry, or even annoyed. “Most of the Hufflepuffs are mad at you, so you go and apologize to Harry Potter? A Gryffindor? The Boy-Who-Lived? What’s going on?”

“I was practicing,” said Dracco, a bit of a self-satisfied drawl entering his voice. His answer was truthful, too, but Cedric was thrown by his statement for a moment before shaking his head.

“This is probably one of those things that I’m not going to understand unless you explain it to me because you still think sort of like a Slytherin, isn’t it?” mused Cedric, and Draco finally looked up. The fourth-year boy looked pensive, and a bit confused, but he didn’t seem… agitated, as many of the others did when they mentioned that Draco was still very Slytherin. Draco wondered why, and then remembered that this  _ wasn’t _ Slytherin, where you shouldn’t voice your thoughts, and you could actually ask personal questions here; so he asked.

“I believe what Professor Sprout says every year,” said Cedric with a shrug. “Hufflepuff has the qualities of  _ all _ of the houses, and that includes Slytherin. Besides, I read that book--” He gestured to the tome still in Draco’s lap. “--a long time ago, so I already know about Hufflepuff taking Slytherin’s students.” Draco’s lips twitched in a smile, but he quickly quelled the expression. It wouldn’t do to look too happy when the other students entered. “So are you going to explain your plot to me?”

“You’ll see it, in a minute,” answered Draco with a shrug of his own. He glanced toward the portrait hole where Hufflepuffs were beginning to stream in; predictably, they gathered a small distance away from where he and Cedric sat and began whispering. Draco didn’t have to hear them to know that they were discussing what had just happened in the Great Hall. He smirked at Cedric, and then schooled his expression. He stood, turning to face the group. He cleared his throat, and they went quiet. “Justin?” There was a slight pause where no one moved, the tension building, and then the boy was pushing his way to the front of the crowd. “I’d like to apologize.”

“So do it, then,” said Justin, but Draco noticed he didn’t seem angry or even very confrontational. Draco tried very hard not to smile at how very  _ Hufflepuff _ it all was.

“I know you heard about what I called you, and I’m sorry if-- _ that _ it hurt you,” said Draco. Justin’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully.

“But you’re  _ not _ sorry that you said it,” he observed, catching the technicality in Draco’s words. Draco shrugged, trying to force the motion to look casual.

“I won’t apologize when I  _ don’t _ mean it,” he said, and there was another wave of whispering. “I believe what I believe right now, and I can’t apologize for thinking things, because that wouldn’t be sincere, but I  _ can  _ apologize for how my actions affect people.” Justin hesitated, and then nodded.

“Alright then. I accept your apology.” Draco tried very hard not to smile at that. After seeing the Boy-Who-Lived accept an apology from Draco--someone Justin had undoubtedly been told the importance of--how could he not have accepted?

“Thank you,” said Draco, which he had planned to say, and knew it was the proper response, but surprisingly, he found that he meant it. “Now, as for the rest of you--” He scanned the gathered students, many of them much older than himself, and he had to push down a wave of intimidation before continuing. “I would like an apology from you.”

His statement sent the group into an immediate uproar, and Draco let it continue for a moment before glancing to Cedric, who seemed to understand what he wanted.

“Shut up, you lot!” he hollered, and this effectively silenced them. “Let’s hear him out.” No one really looked happy, but many appeared curious, and no one protested further.

“Thank you, Cedric,” said Draco calmly--far more calmly than he really felt, he realized as his heart continued to pound in his chest, because it really was intimidating to face off against  _ an entire Hogwarts house _ . Even his  _ own _ house, even  _ Hufflepuffs _ . “I want an apology not because of how you acted, but because of  _ why _ . You weren’t mad at me because I said something offensive, it was just that you thought I proved your suspicions right. You thought that I was ‘just like my father,’ that I was a Slytherin, and not a Hufflepuff. Which, really, isn’t very Hufflepuff of  _ you _ , is it? So, I’d like an apology because I belong here just as much as you do, and you need to know that, or else it’s going to be a terribly difficult seven years.”

There was stunned silence, and then Justin laughed.

“And they say the brave ones go to Gryffindor,” he said, shaking his head, even though Draco didn’t think he was very brave at all--he’d been terrified the whole time. “On behalf of all of us, I’m sorry--and I think I’m allowed to do that since I was the offended party.” Justin held out his hand, and Draco stepped forward to shake it.

He finally allowed himself to smile when the voice in the back of his mind which sounded suspiciously like Lucius Malfoy only protested very, very faintly that he was touching a Mudblood.

After things had died down and Draco retook his seat, he noticed Cedric staring at him, and raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“That was brilliant,” Cedric told him. Draco just smirked, and Cedric’s expression became more amused than admiring. “How do you do that?”

“Do what?” drawled Draco.

“With your face,” said Cedric. Draco raised an eyebrow. “That! And the not-really-a-smile-but-it’s-not-really-mean-either thing.”

“Malfoy trade secret,” he said loftily, but Cedric sat forward eagerly, a broad grin on his face.

“You just made a joke,” he said, and Draco’s brow furrowed. “That’s the first thing I’ve heard you say this whole time that wasn’t insanely serious. I’m impressed.”

“I dunno, Ced,” another fourth-year-boy cut in, “he did make that crack about the yellow ties.” Cedric frowned thoughtfully.

“I thought he really meant that.” He turned back to Draco. “Did you?”

“You’ll never know.”


End file.
